


half the gold treasure in your soul

by Faye_Reynolds



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Time Blow Jobs, I don't know what else to tag, M/M, a little benjo for y'all ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), if this doesn't sway you to kingzer i got straight to jail and will never write again, if you disagree you go straight to jail, sometimes recovering with your best friend can be so romantic, thomas armitage is the MVP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29419326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faye_Reynolds/pseuds/Faye_Reynolds
Summary: As they recover from their personal hell and decisions, Solomon Tozer and William Pilkington get a flat together above a half-decent pub and spend their days drifting and trying to figure out what they could move on to, if they even could. The pub is where they spend most nights among the other great unwashed and occasional militia or traveler. One particular night, however, seems to bring unspoken tensions to a head and neither man is sure they will ever be the same.
Relationships: William Frederick Pilkington/Solomon Tozer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2021





	half the gold treasure in your soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itspilkiebitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itspilkiebitch/gifts).



> please enjoy this story about the two main characters of the terror; any mistakes are my own and uh i will totally fix them later
> 
> [_Baby, could you kill a man?  
>  Could you look in his eyes and feel the fire drain out of his hands?  
>  Baby do you think about the past?  
>  Do you wonder if every stupid little thing has led us to this?_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/5dJvISvgxPCxmMPIq5WNhv?si=zk2rvPnWRdObGUBT0clOmA)
> 
> _to el, my lobster._

When they finally make it home, Crozier gives them a pass.

After all the bloodshed and carnage, betrayal and cruelty, Crozier commends them for their service – thanking Armitage and Solomon specifically for their takedown of Hickey and Tuunbaq respectively, with promotions.  
  
Will even gets a promotion. One that he can’t, in good conscience, accept. It was given to him anyway.

When the dust eventually settles, after an acceptable, if not absolved, version of events - decided on by the remaining men long before they ever landed - was given to The Admiralty, they are expected to return to their lives.

Will cannot remember what his life looked like before he ever even set foot on the _Erebus_ so he cannot exactly imagine what his life should look like after. How would anyone who hadn’t been in that frozen hell expect them, any of them, to continue on as though nothing happened? No one, save the surviving, would ever know the true price they have paid in agony, bloodshed, and terror.

This is why Will thinks he and Solomon have not spent more than a few hours apart since their return. They had always been close, of course. They rose through the ranks together and trained together, had been on the same journeys, side by side, but this was a different companionship they both required. Different and _deeper_ and Will felt overwhelmed by how badly it seemed they needed and relied on one another.

They had been given six months to “gather their bearings” as The Admiralty put it and once Solomon mentioned renting out a place instead of staying at the barracks, it wasn’t even a question as to whether or not Will was going too. The only night he had spent there was full of too much noise and memory of unscarred times and naïve excitement. The men discussing their futures and possibilities made Will sick to his stomach and impossible to sleep.

The next day, when Solomon met him at the entrance, he said he wanted to find a place as well. He thought he saw hope and relief in the expression he received in return, but Solomon had turned around before he could confirm it.

They found an available flat late that afternoon. It is not lavish in any sense of the word, but there was a large fireplace and the owner had it already furnished from when previous tenants left without warning. There were two bedrooms with beds far more comfortable than anything they had slept on in years. However, the rooms themselves turned out to be far too drafty to stay sufficiently warm – they vowed never to freeze again — so the beds now stayed near the fireplace.

After the first freezing night found both of them huddled together with a mountain of blankets in front of a fire so large it was threatening to burst from the hearth, it was Will who suggested they move their beds to the sitting room. He hadn’t been so nervous to speak since the day he enlisted in Bath.

* * *

“It’s not as though we be entertaining anyone. Tommy’s the only one who comes ‘round and he never stays past sundown.”

Will’s heart raced, though he had been unsure why, as he watched the flickering flames dance across Solomon’s face.

“Not ‘nough room for both.”

He still hadn’t been accustomed to how broken and deep Solomon’s voice had gotten since the expedition. The sudden sound shocked him enough to make him jump slightly.

His roommate must have mistaken it for a shiver because he moved closer to Will despite the fact they had been sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“We could push ‘em together in that corner, I ‘spose.” Solomon spoke again, rough, and uncertain, as their eyes met. Will knew his cheeks were heating from the suggestion rather than the fire, but he could not look away.

Still, he had always praised himself on his resolute resolve in most situations, so he responded with little waver in his voice.

“If that what ya want, Sol.”

Solomon nodded decisively, but Will could see the telltale signs of a smile on the corner of the dry, cracked lips of his best friend.

He tightened his fists to keep from reaching out, unsure of what exactly they were searching for.

* * *

The best part of the flat, however, was that it was situated above a decent pub and the barkeep happened to be the owner of both. He had asked very few questions that Will mostly answered when they had inquired about the flat. Solomon had only quietly asked about the fireplace at first, so Will took a step forward and asked the more necessary ones. Still, the owner seemed to understand why it was needed.

_“A survivor knows his own.”_

That was what the barkeep, Vincent, had said, rather cryptically before he handed over a set of keys and told them they were welcome in the pub anytime. It ended up being where they spent most nights.

Since the family before them had left in such haste, the flat still had a small collection of books, a half-used drawing kit in the closet of Will’s room, and more than enough blankets for the both of them.

They fill their days with sleep, the occasional meeting with a doctor or going to a shop, reading, drawing, and just… _living_ in the only ways they can anymore.

On their good days, Solomon will read aloud while Will draws the streets below them or mends their sweaters and socks – a skilled learned a lifetime ago in the early Irish mornings where only he and his mother were aware of the world. On the bad days, when either or both of them are too deep in their heads, and the only sound that can be heard is of the scratch of pencil, turn of a page, shudders, and sighs hidden beneath the crackle of an ever-present fire, Will draws his best friend.

He focuses on the sharp creases and fine lines that have formed far too early for a man of his age, the curls that he’s refused or forgotten to try to tame (Will can’t say he minds), and the delicate curve of frowning, still slightly cracked lips. Most importantly, though, he focuses on the wide, glistening eyes that refuse to blink for long moments at a time – Will has to occasionally clear his throat to ensure Solomon hasn’t fallen asleep with his eyes open.

And though expressions change, lines shift, and eyes sometimes remain closed, Will draws it all. In the end though, before he puts his supplies away, he commits the picture to memory before tossing it in the fire. He can’t explain why he does it, not to himself, let alone Solomon, should he ever notice or care to ask.

He doesn’t and Will refuses to answer to himself.

* * *

On their livelier days, Tommy comes over. Of the three of them, and probably most of the survivors, Armitage has fared the best. Upon Crozier's recommendation, Tommy was finally made a marine. As far as Will was concerned, Tommy proved as such and more throughout the expedition. He supposes Crozier felt some repayment was necessary since it was Tommy who finally silenced Hickey, but in the end, all that mattered was that his friend was okay with it all and happy. Well, happy as any of them could be.

On this peculiar day, however, after roughly a week of not hearing from him, Tommy shows up at the pub… in full uniform and sets the course for a set of irrevocable actions.

Will notices… _feels_ the moment Solomon tenses immediately beside him before he registers that it’s Tommy.

He wants to reach over and place a hand on the other man’s hand to calm him but instead distracts himself with the bite of his nails from his clenched fists.

He shoots up, welcomes Tommy with a hug, to give Solomon a moment to collect himself, and fights against the sudden dizziness when the familiar tang of gunpowder fills his senses.

He pulls Tommy toward the bar for a round and when he turns to check on Solomon, he is met with a look he does not recognize – one that is somewhere between confusion and realization. He doesn’t have enough time to think of it before Tommy is talking his ear off.

“Can’t believe you two managed this training,” Tommy elbows Will and gestures with his head toward Solomon.

Will takes a deep breath to calm himself and holds up three fingers to signal Vincent, “Just barely, Tommy. Those drills were enough to send a man to the edge.”

Tommy doesn’t even blink, just laughs easily, and Will lets out a deep sigh because he’s never had to pretend around him. Even during the expedition, Tommy had taken Will’s gruff and angry disposition without mockery or annoyance. It was the first time anyone had ever done that, and it had endeared Tommy to him, everything that followed just deepened their friendship.

The sigh does not go unnoticed, though, and Tommy leans closer.

“No change, then?”

Will resists the urge to look behind him and ignores the feeling that he is being watched.

Not that he minds it, but he spends so much time in comfortable silence or without speaking with Solomon that he forgets what easy conversation can be like.

He shakes his head.

“Not yet. It will come. He just needs time.”

They grab the pints and before they turn around Tommy says, “Time can’t heal everything, Will. He needs something more.”

Will nods, he knows that. He just doesn’t know what to _do_ about it.

“Will tells me you used to run circles around him during drills.” Tommy declares loudly as he settles next to Solomon. He winks at Will conspiratorially.

Will rolls his eyes but sets a pint down in front of Solomon and ignores the odd feeling in his gut that Tommy took his seat.

“That so?” Solomon inquires with curiosity.

Will’s eyes shoot up. Solomon is smiling, really smiling, and his voice seems to have lost the broken quality that has haunted it for months.

He holds back a gasp because the sound makes his breathing stutter. It had been so long since he had heard it and Will never realized how he could miss a sound so much.

Solomon meets his eyes and Will sees mischief in them he can’t remember ever seeing before. Will’s heart beats hard against his chest.

“Well, ‘spose there may have been a few times, Tommy.”

He watches Solomon take a drink and set his glass down. Will’s eyes drift from the lingering shine of lager on his lips to meet stormy eyes staring directly at him.

It is only through years of invasive conversation, from less than proper marines, that Will keeps his expression under control and does not turn red from blush completely.

Solomon smiles in the way he used to whenever he had figured out the answer to a particular problem, like he was unstoppable.

Only, the last time he saw that look had been just before the end of a shotgun met the back of Solomon’s skull.

Will’s left hand clenches on top of the table and he fights to catch his breath again.

He has yet to look away from the man in front of him, though, and that smile hasn’t faded an inch.

“Though Will’s always been the quicker study of us two. With us as idols, ‘spose you’re top of the class now, no?” Solomon elbows Tommy and _laughs_.

The shock of sound makes Will take a long drink to ignore the pounding of his heart.

They stay later in the night than they normally do; just a handful of others are still loitering, and Vincent was wiping down the bar top.

Will is eternally grateful for Tommy and his willingness to play the ignorant fool to Solomon’s usual sullenness. Though Will knows his roommate well enough to know that none of the laughter he’s heard is forced and he’s still trying to figure out what has caused the change in Solomon’s behavior. He sets it aside in favor of the good company and warm laughs because he’s had to live far too long without it.

It is the best night he can remember in recent memory. They’ve had enough to warm their cheeks and blur the world, but they are in no way incoherent. The familiar calm of alcohol and relatively quiet night provides a soothing balm over their otherwise dark days.

Which is why when a drunkard, one Will has noticed before but not encountered and heartily ignored, and his two friends start harassing them from across the pub, he feels his hackles rise.

It wasn’t so much what the men were saying, he’s heard far worse from far more important people, but the fact that they felt the need to do it and continued to get louder the closer he got, that had Will’s hands clenched and poised to fight.

The man that was speaking was nearly standing behind his chair, ignoring him to shout at Tommy while Vincent tried to get him to leave.

It has happened only a few times before and normally when the instigators were ignored, they would give up, and in the first few weeks they came here, they were far too haggard and exhausted to even hear anything. Only when Vincent would apologize the following night did they even know something happened.

This was not one of those nights, however, and Will can feel the bite of his nails digging deeper into his hand the longer it goes on. Even as a child he had a problem managing his temper and his ma would always lament that he was born with his hands in fists. Which is why she tried to teach him the patience and reward of mending clothes and making bread before his daily chores.

She would always tell him, _“our fists are for kneading, not for conversation…unless they are putting an end one.”_ Then she would wink at him then and Will would giggle, carefree and with the world ahead of him.

Now, more than ever, he heeds her advice.

They didn’t go through hell, make the most difficult choices no man should ever have to, watch their friends die or go mad, and _survive it all_ just to have some drunkard who’d never been more than thirty kilometers from home tell them who they were.

And unlike their time in hell, Will was not going to stand by and watch as things unfolded. This time _he_ would be the one to end things before they escalated before those he loved got hurt.

The only man of the three who is still talking is getting angrier the more he is ignored.

“…and you lot are nothing more than pigeon-livered rats. Cowards, every single one.”

Will looks up sharply to find Tommy ready to strike, and Solomon with his arms wrapped tightly against him – to prevent a fight or a subdued acceptance of assault, Will is not sure – but he knows what he has to do.

He looks to Tommy who recognizes the fire in his eyes. It was reminiscent of the look they had shared when Solomon refused to leave Hickey’s group in favor of waiting him out. He does not blame or fault Solomon’s decision, and he would follow it time and time again if it meant they would make it out.

But now it’s not his choice, it’s Will.

He chooses to fight.

Tommy seems to understand this, and Will nods once.

“Get him out of here.”

Then he stands quickly and kicks his chair back with the full force of his leg. It collides hard enough for the man to stagger back. In a moment of surprise, Will runs toward the chair and steps onto it quickly to drive his fist home toward the nose of the middle man with a satisfying crunch and lands a decent kick to the chest of the man on the right.

What he may lack in height or muscle, Will more than makes up for in sheer will and rage.

He gets up, standing roughly on the middle man’s chest to tackle the third man to the ground. He is either not expecting it or is thinner than Will thought because they crash into the table nearest them and to the ground.

He lands three solid punches before he hears Solomon and looks toward the door.

He hears, “Tommy! Let me go! He needs me! I need h-,” before a punch lands full force on his left temple, the thin man’s wedding ring cutting deep into his skin. He rolls to the side and is pulled up by the man with an average build who holds him while the taller middle man snickers.

Will leans his head back, panting, blood trickling down his cheek, and spits in the man’s face.

The next punch is expected but hurts more than Will thought it would. Still…he has been through far worse.

The gunshot, however, is unexpected and everyone stops as Will is let go and slumps to the floor.

“Alright, you lot! That’s enough! I ever see you or your mates in here again, Charlie, I’ll shoot you dead and not think twice.”

The three men scurry out the door and Will thinks that even after all he has experienced, he may have finally lost it because he just starts laughing.

He laughs even after Vincent pulls him up off the floor and sits him on a stool near the bar top.

“I dunno whether you’re mad or brave, William. Judging on the laughter, I’m thinkin’ the former of the two.”

Will coughs, feels the pain radiate in his stomach, and knows he may have a bruised rib. He’s not sorry for it though. He finally protected Solomon and Tommy from danger, and he feels a weight of guilt lift from his chest he didn’t know was there. Now only the pain from the fight was making it harder to breathe.

“Reckon it’s a bit of both, Vin.”

Vincent sets about fixing the table while Will catches his breath only to lose it again when the door to the pub flies open.

“You daft, reckless, angry littl-,”

“Good to see you too, Sol.” Will laughs and realizes his mistake when he curls in on himself in pain.

“You idiot,” Solomon pulls Will’s arm over his shoulder and his body into his side before starting to slowly walk to the back stairs towards their flat.

“Let us know what we owe you, Vin!” He shouts over his shoulder with an almost immediate response of “Nothing,” from the pub owner.

Then, “See to that cut on your man’s temple, Solomon.” Vincent regards as an afterthought.

They are halfway up the stairs when Will realizes what Vincent said.

_Your man._

He is not certain how Vincent meant it, but it makes him dizzy from what he _wants_ it to mean.

He wishes to bring it up at once, but instead, he says, “I hate that he uses our full names, like some sort of burly, bearded nun.”

The exasperated but fond laugh from the man at his side makes Will’s cheeks heat more than lager every could.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he delights in the way he is manhandled onto _their_ bed and out of his coat and new cream jumper that he is enraged has blood on it – though he’s not sure whose it is.

“I only purchased that two days ago.” He remarks, brooding.

“We’ll fix it, Will.” His friend assures with a small laugh.

Solomon's sure and steady hands on his body have his heart racing and eyes fluttering.

This night has brought so much to light that hid in the shadows of their experiences and of their lives in the last few months and Will wants so badly to know what’s going on in his best friend’s head, if he’s had the same revelations as Will.

He looks up slowly and shivers, now only in a thin undershirt, and there is a moment where Solomon’s eyes glaze over before he suddenly rushes toward building the fire back up.

Will settles against the wall and watches the other man work in silence because, despite the pain radiating around his head and chest, he hasn’t felt so good, so _alive_ in a long time.

It’s probably the rush of a good fight or the lingering haze of alcohol, but Will feels _courageous_ in a way he never has been before and it makes him want to be reckless where he has always been so cautious and careful.

In all their time together, he knows how long it takes for Solomon to build a fire and it takes nearly twice that tonight and Will thinks he knows why, but the pounding in his head is keeping him from linking everything together.

He groans and when he opens his eyes, Solomon’s there looking more nervous than Will can ever remember seeing.

“I’ve got to clean that gash, Will.”

Will’s mouth drops at the deep, rough tone of Solomon’s declaration. It is unlike anything he has heard before and the uncertainty makes his heart race.

He swallows harshly and nods.

Before he can catch his breath, Solomon’s sitting next to him on the bed and, with as gentle a touch as possible, begins cleaning the cut on Will’s head and the dried blood on his temple and cheek.

Will tries to keep his eyes open, he does. Except, Solomon keeps meeting his eyes, and between the closeness, gentle touches, warm breath, and soft but heated gaze – Will has to close his eyes, or else he knows he would do something reckless and irrevocable.

“Still can’t believe you thought that was a wise plan, Will.”

Will smiles, loves the way his name has always sounded coming from the man in front of him.

“No one ever accused me of being wise, Sol.”

Solomon sighs as he wrings out the cloth again and focuses on the blood on Will’s neck, the warm breath on the damp skin causing Will’s eyes to flutter and breath stutter. Solomon seems unfazed if not for the slight tremor in his hand, and if Will had any capacity left for thought, he would try to figure out why it was there.

He cannot fight the minor quiver in his voice but needs to keep talking to distract himself.

“‘Sides, those drunkards had it coming. Been saying those things for weeks. Tommy can’t risk the marines to a fight in a pub and I’d rather not cause you any more pain, so I took the brunt of it.”

Solomon’s ministrations stop suddenly, and Will’s eyes fly open.

Solomon stares back for a moment before gently grabbing Will’s hands to clean the blood from them as well.

Will cannot speak, can barely breathe without trouble as the heat from Solomon’s hands seep into his own.

The gentle presses continue under Will’s certain no blood remains, Solomon’s hands trembling far more than they did a moment before.

He stops his ministrations, but still holds onto Will’s hands.

“W-what do you mean you’d not wish causing me pain? When have you e-ever done that?” Solomon’s voice wavers and Will knows there are tears in the other man’s eyes just like those beginning to fill his own.

They haven’t talked about it much, their shared hell before they came back, but if the days and weeks of mostly silence are anything to go by, they were not ready to. Now was that moment and neither man was prepared for it.

Will pulls his hands away and toward him, tightening them before suddenly releasing.

He gathers every bit of courage he has ever had and lets every reservation, wall, and boundary within himself come tumbling down.

And with a shuddering breath, confesses his greatest sin and secret to the only person worthy enough to know them.

“I…” His throat seizes, a final warning perhaps to stop him, but he pushes through, “I didn’t stop _it._ I didn’t stop _him._ I didn’t stop any of it, not when I had the chance at least and because of it you almost…you nearly died. God, I wanted to wring that rat’s neck dry when you were struck with the gun. Plenty of men lost their lives out there, but yours?”

His voice breaks.

Then he scoffs and blinks away the sudden tears that refused to fall anywhere but his cheeks.

“Your death was the only thing I could not and _would not_ handle.”

He stares openly now, tears be damned, and focuses the severity and intensity of his words and emotions through his gaze.

He is met with watery eyes and quivering lips, but not a full understanding. There’s still confusion in the stormy eyes of which he is so fond.

At that moment, Will realizes he has to truly lay his soul bare and trust it is safe with the man beside him.

The man he…

_“I love you, Solomon.”_

It is not what he means to say, not by any stretch. He wants to explain everything – the moment he knew, how long, and every moment that made it all real and intense - but it is what he _needed_ to say and now it seems he cannot stop.

“In every way that is important, I do. And it isn’t from our collective hell or even the months here together, though they have their part. I’ve been fond of you since you took the marksman record in our barracks days.”

There is a deep gasp disguised as a laugh that fights its way from Solomon’s chest.

The man beside him has not spoken yet though, and Will’s fists tighten harshly because he wants so badly to put his hand to Solomon’s chin and lift his head so that their eyes may meet.

“P-please say something, Sol.”

The sudden warmth on his hands makes him jump and he worries he’s spooked Solomon as well, but he can see pink cheeks and a small smile and a new hope blooms in his chest.

Then rough hands meet rougher ones and Solomon unfolds his curled fist and holds Will’s left hand in his own.

“You’ve got a habit of doing that, you know?”

Will swallows harshly, the sound audible to his ears even over the blood rushing through them.

“You make a fist whenever you’re troubled, thinking, angry, or want to… _touch?_ I always thought you were angry with me, but that’s not it, is it? It couldn’t be though, not when you do it so often around me. I knew it had to be something else, something _more.”_

It doesn’t even feel like Solomon is talking to him, though he knows he is, more that he is just spilling his thoughts out loud.

“I’ve always noticed it, though more so these last months with you. When you draw, whatever it is you’re drawing, you have a habit of clenching your fist when you can’t get something right,” Solomon runs his fingers across the palm of Will’s hand and Will has to keep himself from shuddering – God, he never knew he was so sensitive or perhaps it’s just because of _who_ it is that’s touching him.

“Or even at the pub tonight, your hand was in a fist next to me when Tommy came in and even on the table when you were staring at me.”

Solomon looks up then, and the evenness and intensity of his gaze have Will’s breath and pulse out of sync.

“I made be out of it some days, but I can always _feel_ your eyes on me, Will. What do you _see_?”

The question is asked gently, but shattered, as though Solomon’s begging to understand _why_ Will would love him – as though there was any one reason why Will _wouldn’t._

He feels the weight of the world on his shoulders as the other man waits for an answer.

There is nowhere and nothing left to hide, and he doesn’t think he could lie even if he tried or wanted to.

He sets them free.

“Everything, Solomon. I see everything. Light and dark. Good and bad. I see someone who is hurt and broken, but not beyond saving or repair. Someone selfless and compassionate beyond words. Someone forced to give up parts of themselves that no one should be asked to give. I see a survivor and a savior. I see my best friend and I see…the only person I’ll ever love.”

He lifts his right hand and rests it gently near Solomon’s right cheek, thumb gently removing tears.

Solomon finally looks up, devastatingly handsome and fragmented, but hopeful and smiling.

His fingers circle Will’s wrist and pull gently.

It is the easiest choice Will’s ever made to follow the tide into his best friend’s arms. He had already followed him into hell and back, he would follow him anywhere.

Solomon’s right arm wraps gently around Will’s torso, mindful of the injury. Will’s certain he blushes further at the gentility but can feel the rapid heartbeat from the man beside him against his chest and knows they are both equally nervous.

Their eyes meet once more and Will’s hand drifts back to his best friend's neck, loving the rapid pulse beneath his fingers.

They are perhaps a hair’s breadth away when Will whispers, “Your move, Sergeant.”

He hears an insufferable groan before lips meet his own and Will loses himself in the kiss.

He has only ever kissed one person before, a boy named Sean just before he enlisted, and they were both too scared of being caught to enjoy it.

But _this_ , Will knows this is a kiss that poetry is written about, that is longed for, that makes flowers bloom.

Then there is a whispered, _“I love you, Will,”_ against his lips.

Should he die now, he would die happy and satisfied.

Solomon’s tongue touches his own and the sensation has Will clinging to the other man like he is the only thing keeping Will grounded.

His mind is racing with so many thoughts, but none more so that the notion of how right and inevitable this feels. As though, no matter what they would have done in life or the choices they made, they were always to end up here or end up together. The intensity of the feeling makes him light-headed.

Then, Solomon’s lips latched onto his neck and Will has to fight from tightening his fists any harsher lest he tears the clothes from the other man’s back.

He leans back and pulls Solomon toward him to follow. Solomon grabs Will’s torso to push him further onto _their_ bed and Will cries out in pain.

“I-I’m so sorry, Will. I didn’t-I’d never hurt…I’m sorry.”

Solomon retracts into himself and Will is suddenly freezing from lack of contact and the exhaustion from the fight and their sudden confessions hits him hard.

He reaches out, freely and unashamed, and links his best friend’s hands with his own.

“I’m fine, Sol. You didn’t hurt me. You never have.”

The man in front of him smiles and lets out a shaky breath. Will links their hands together and in an impulsive moment presses the knuckles his lips.

“Loathe as I am to end my total debauchery at your hands,” He laughs gently at the roll of Solomon’s eyes before relenting, “Given tonight’s events, I am rather knackered. So, fix the fire and then come to bed, _dear._ ”

He memorizes the wide eyes and deep blush as Solomon turns to do as he was told.

Will is surprised at how confident his demand and endearment come out, but there is not a hint of awkwardness or hesitation lingering around them now. It is as if the only thing that had been hanging over their heads was this…unspoken thing. He knows they are far from fine and that there is far too much to work out about their future, but for tonight they are okay.

They are together and for now, that is all they need.

He carefully gathers the blankets off the bed and when he knocks into the small table beside their bed, he suddenly remembers something.

In the wooden box underneath the table, there is one drawing he never put in the fire. It had been a horrid morning after a night full of nightmares and Will knew they both looked like death, but the sun had been so bright that day as if daring them to defy it.

He remembers Solomon reading some dreadfully boring book but laughing at a certain part when the sun was high and struck him just so that he had to capture it.

Will could not bear to part with that image, so he hid it. He wasn’t hiding anymore, though.

He pulls the drawing out just as Solomon comes back to bed and sits next to him. The light of the fire is enough to illuminate their faces and even in the half-darkness, Will can see all that makes up the man in front of him. All that he loves.

He hands over the picture and waits for his best friend’s reaction.

Solomon’s fingers gently trace it as if not recognizing himself.

“All this time?”

Will nods and fights of a yawn, sleepy, but content and at peace.

“T-this is how you see me?”

Will knows Solomon’s disbelief isn’t meant to be insulting, and he will gladly spend the rest of his life proving and showing the other man that that is what the _world_ sees, not just Will.

“All that and more, Sol. All you have to do is look.”

The drawing is set aside carefully, and Will is pulled into another kiss that is full of gratitude and unreserved love. He is trembling when they part, surprised by the intensity.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Solomon whispers against his lip, stealing once more kiss for good measure.

Will stops for a moment, just holding the man he loves and is _loved by_ against his chest. There is still heat in Solomon’s eyes and Will knows there is just as much in his own.

His right hand glides along the beard-rough cheek and into the soft, delicate curls that give him no resistance.

Solomon falls into the caress with ease, kissing then gently biting Will’s palm.

The gentle surrender ignites a fire in Will and he hastily pulls the other man into a searing embrace.

There is a moan exhaled into his mouth and Will swallows it desperately, hunger for the other man near insatiable.

Will kisses and bites his way along Solomon’s jaw and down his neck, noting each sound from him getting breathier and begging. He loses himself in it and in the man he’s wanted for far too long.

“ _Will,”_ Solomon whispers only from lack of proper oxygen and not the desire to be quiet, “ _please_.”

He takes pity and kisses his way back to Solomon’s lips, kissing them soundly and opening his eyes to see darkened and intense ones looking back at him.

“What do you want?” he doesn’t recognize his voice, deeper and rougher that it has ever been, and it seems to spark something in Solomon or perhaps it is the question, or Will’s patience, but he is laid flat and covered by the other man’s body before he can speak.

The warmth seeps deep into him.

Will begins to sweat.

“I want you, Will, in whatever way I can. In all ways possible.”

Solomon kisses him again, fevered and burning and Will succumbs to the heat.

Pain forgotten for the pure pleasure in being _devoured_ by his best friend.

“I-I’ve not done this before, Sol,” he admits, breathless and a bit embarrassed.

“Must be a trick of the mind, then,” there’s laughter against his neck.

Will pulls back, “How so?” worried he has done something wrong.

Solomon kisses his brow before bringing his hand to the front of his trousers and stuttered breath escapes as Will’s hand closes around the _substantial_ length.

“No way someone chaste can make me feel this way.”

Something in him breaks at the sight, sound, and touch, each sensation adding pure gasoline to the fire in him.

He rushes up, capturing lips with his own as he pushes Solomon on the bed with a loud groan.

“ _Will.”_

Will’s hands slip beneath his trousers and smallclothes with the ease of a knife through butter, easily bringing Solomon’s length into the open air.

There’s a hiss from the slight draft that never seems to escape them, and Will is quick to remedy this with his hands, doing what he’s always found pleasurable when he had the time.

Solomon is already writhing beside him, thin shirt sticking to his broad, sweating chest that Will certainly will spend hours kissing every inch of, but the man has been suffering enough that he deserves a little mercy.

Will slides off the bed, a twinge of pain in his side at the movement ignored for his new task.

This close, Solomon’s length is even more impressive, and Will would be daunted were it not for the pure and wanton desire consuming him.

He watches Solomon who looks as though he’s about to burst from his skin as he takes the length into his mouth.

The reaction is immediate, and Will pulls back as Solomon’s hip roll toward his mouth.

He can’t make out everything Solomon is saying, the man is speaking so fast, but he does he, “ _so bloody good,”_ which is more than enough encouragement along with the hand that remains in hair, steadfast. Fist tightening and releasing with each pulse of pleasure.

He isn’t sure how to go about this, so he uses Solomon as a guide, pushing and pulling, groaning and hissing as Will finds a synced rhythm that they’ve always shared, falling in line together.

“ _Fuck_ , Will. _Please._ ”

He’s not sure what he’s being asked for and though his jaw is beginning to ache in the most delicious way, he’s not sure he’ll last much longer himself. His length is pressing harshly against his trousers with just enough friction to drive him mad and his can’t stop from moaning around Solomon and it’s all building too quickly.

He adjusts his stance, knees creaking against the floorboards, and Solomon’s hips roll of their own accord, seeking more heat, and bury his length in the back of Will’s throat with a deep sob.

Will gags slightly but the sensation of _fullness_ is one that throws him over the edge in a heartbeat. His vision is beginning to blur at the edges, when sudden heat strikes his throat, coating it in bitterness and salt that he swallows without a thought.

He pulls back gasping and so _assuaged_ , he feels delirious. He drops onto the ground, panting, sweat cooling on the cool floor doing nothing to chill him. He may never freeze again so long as Solomon is by his side.

He lifts his hand and finds his best friend in a similar state.

Will is bold enough to admit he’s a proud man, but the way Solomon still trembles gives him a sense of pride that he never imagined.

When it seems he’ll receive no help off the floor, Will slowly crawls his way back onto the bed, lying beside Solomon who still seems to be recovering.

“Are you alright?” He asks, tongue in cheek and trying not to be boastful.

He is suddenly covered by his best friend again, heat seeping through, fire in them died down, but no less intense.

“You are never to leave my side,” Solomon remarks with a laugh, stroking the sweat-cooled curls on either side of his face.

Will takes it seriously as he entwines their hands above them, stretching Solomon’s chest to cover his own, reveling in the weight and comfort of it.

He’s silent, needing a moment to declare something he’s always felt but never had the words for.

Solomon meets his eyes, worry and concern prominent, and thinks something is wrong.

“Not even death could part me from you.”

He watches as realization dawns on the man above him and he is given a sudden kiss so gentle that Will feels he will break from it.

Solomon rests his brow against Will’s and smiles, “Not even death.”

They remain like that, simply _together_.

Will yawns, unbidden and unwelcome. He wishes the moon to never go down and remain in this night for the rest of his days.

“ _Now_ , let’s go to sleep.” Will laughs and kisses Solomon with ease and freedom.

“Well, of course. I’m not sure you would survive another romp.”

Solomon smacks his chest before kissing his cheek, blush prominent only then despite what they’ve just done.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, with their newfound level of exhaustion, Will’s injuries, and heightened intimacy, but they eventually settle in.

Will’s back to Solomon’s front, fitting together with ease and comfort like a natural occurrence.

Just as they are drifting to sleep, Will’s hand tightens once more.

A hand tightens back.

They both smile as they finally fall asleep.

Happy.

Warm.

Loved.


End file.
